


The Renovation Project

by scatteredlogic



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Gen Fic, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-01
Updated: 2007-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:50:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteredlogic/pseuds/scatteredlogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the final battle, Phineas Nigellus and Hermione Granger take on a rather special renovation project.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Renovation Project

Phineas Nigellus stopped trusting Albus Dumbledore on the night his great-great-grandson died. Phineas had never particularly liked Sirius, but that was unimportant. He was a _Black_ , and as far as Phineas was concerned, Dumbledore failed to keep the boy safe. That failure cost Sirius first his freedom, then his life, and that was something Phineas would not forgive.

As Sirius seemed to fade from everyone's memories and the ensuing months wore on, Phineas watched, grim-faced and silent, as Dumbledore planned his own death at the hands of Severus Snape and groomed Harry Potter for a suicide mission. Potter would ultimately live or die by his own strength of will, but Phineas noted that Albus made no plans for Snape's survival. There were no secret letters absolving guilt, no whispered confidences to a second-in-command. As events became more urgent and there was still not so much as a Pensieve memory tucked away, Phineas realised that Severus was to be thrown away like so much rubbish.

Just as Sirius had been thrown away.

That's when Phineas began making plans of his own.

In the dead hours of the night, he made his way to the lower levels of the dungeons and to the portrait of Mordecai Druitt. In life, Druitt had been a contemporary of Phineas' and a gifted Healer. An odd sort of Slytherin, Druitt had never held prejudices regarding bloodlines. He claimed to have seen too much blood in his profession to believe that one sort was superior to another, but he had been fascinated by genealogy — _everyone's_ genealogy. If not nipped sharply in the bud, Druitt would drone on for hours in excruciating detail regarding aunts, uncles and third cousins twice removed. His portrait was no different, which was why he now hung in an abandoned classroom and was rarely visited by anyone.

Joined by the Bloody Baron, they discussed what should be done about Severus. Each acknowledged it likely that one side or the other would attempt to kill Snape at some point, but Phineas had no intention of simply accepting that outcome. Saving Severus Snape appealed not just because Phineas genuinely liked the dour man, but also because Phineas was supremely tired of Albus bloody Dumbledore throwing away good men for bad reasons. Perhaps Dumbledore wanted Snape to assist Potter and then obligingly die or be locked away in Azkaban, but Phineas did not.

For all their discussion, their plans remained vague until the day that Severus Snape returned to Hogwarts as Headmaster, and Hermione Granger stuffed Phineas' Grimmauld Place portrait into her beaded handbag.

"Awful, rude girl!" Phineas snarled. "As if I'm no more than a Muggle photograph to be carried about for her convenience!"

Druitt laughed so hard he choked.

Irritated, Phineas glared at him. "It's time we attended to business instead of nattering on like gossiping schoolchildren. Potter and his friends have started the hunt, and we have no idea how quickly circumstances will change for the Headmaster. The Ministry has fallen to the Death Eaters, and Dumbledore's bumbling Order of the Phoenix believes Professor Snape to be a traitor. We're all he can depend upon at the moment.

"Baron, you must watch him at all times. I know it's taxing for you to remain invisible, but you must make the effort. No one can know he's being watched."

The Baron inclined his head in assent.

"And what shall I do?" Druitt asked.

Phineas eyed him for a moment. "Your hobby may come in useful yet. All the old families are related in some way; of the three of us here, who is mostly closely related to the Crouch family?"

Druitt tilted his head, pursing his lips in thought. "I am. My great-great-great grandmother, Carpathia Druitt, was originally a Crouch. She married Simon Dru—"

"Fine," Phineas interrupted quickly. "There's a house-elf here at Hogwarts who once belonged to the Crouch family. Winky has been at loose ends since she was dismissed from that household. She would do what we want as long as you promise that one of your descendants will take her as soon as our tasks are complete."

"I'll speak to one of my great-great granddaughters. I have another portrait hanging in—" Druitt began.

Phineas cut him off again. "Instruct Winky to clean the back portion of this room. Tell her to bring boxes so that area is blocked from view, then move a bed in behind them. Leave the front looking like a storage room to avoid attracting unwanted attention." Phineas turned back to the Baron. "If the Headmaster is seriously injured, call Winky and have him brought here."

The Baron nodded, his expression sombre. "And if he's killed outright?"

"I don't want either side having his body." Phineas' jaw tightened. "I don't trust the Order to have any respect, and Riddle is using Inferi. No matter what happens, bring the Headmaster here."

* * *

"And let it be noted that Slytherin House played its part! Let our contribution not be forgotten!"

As soon as he spoke the words, the smile fell from Phineas' lips. Tom Riddle was finally dead, and Phineas had played his role for the others to see, but now he needed to separate Granger from her compatriots. Winky had brought in the supplies and done all she could for Professor Snape, but Druitt had said their time was running out. Unfortunately, Potter just kept _talking_. Impatient, Phineas slipped into his other portrait, still in Granger's handbag, and waited. Finally, Potter shut his mouth, and Phineas felt a swaying motion as they went down the stone staircase.

He could faintly hear Potter saying something about going to Gryffindor Tower and having a sandwich. Phineas rolled his eyes at that. The Wizarding world was currently sprawled at the boy's feet, ripe for the plucking, and all he wanted was a sandwich. Only a Gryffindor would be so stupid.

When Ron Weasley said that he wanted to check on his parents, Phineas ground his teeth. He couldn't let Granger follow either of them.

"Girl! Granger girl!" he shouted. "I demand to talk to you!"

The swaying continued for a few more steps, then he heard her tell Potter and Weasley that she'd catch them up in a few minutes. Light filtered in when she opened her handbag, and Phineas blinked a few times against the sudden glare.

"Are those imbeciles gone?" he asked.

"Stop calling them names! What do you want?" Granger frowned as she looked inside. "I'll put your portrait back at Grimmauld Place when I have the chance, you're not—"

"Go to the dungeons now," Phineas snapped. "There's a man dying. Keep your handbag open so that I can direct you to the room."

"What?" She gaped in surprise. "Who's dying? I'll fetch Madam Pomfrey—"

"No! Not Pomfrey, just you," Phineas hissed. "It's the Headmaster, and he doesn't want to be gawked at."

"The Headmaster?" Granger looked confused for an instant, then she went pale, and her voice rose to a squeak. "You mean Professor _Snape_? He's alive? But I thought he was..." She stopped abruptly and took a deep breath, visibly attempting to calm herself. "He was bitten by Nagini, and his neck was... I don't know how to heal that sort of injury."

"There's a Healer with him now, but he needs your help. The Baron said that _you_ left the Headmaster to die, and now _you_ can save his life, but you must hurry!"

She looked stricken at the accusation, and Phineas felt a moment of cold satisfaction. The wretched girl deserved no less for abandoning the Headmaster. Then Phineas was forced to grab the sides of his frame to keep his balance as she clutched the handbag to her chest and broke into a run towards the dungeons.

* * *

Hermione flew down the steps to the lower dungeons, with Phineas Nigellus shouting out muffled directions. She wove through the hallways and found the proper door, pushing it open to see only a dark, dirty room filled with boxes.

"This isn't the right room," she cried.

"Yes, it is. We're over here," Phineas called. His voice came not from her handbag but from behind the boxes, and she realised he'd left the Grimmauld Place portrait again.

Hermione picked her way through the jumble of boxes, barking her shin on a box of mouldering Arithmancy texts, then squinted at the sudden light. The back section of the room was ablaze with candlelight. There was some variation of a Disillusionment charm on the front portion of the room, Hermione decided. When her eyes adjusted to the sudden change, she gasped.

Professor Snape was lying on a bed; Winky and the Bloody Baron stood guard against the far wall. Winky's eyes narrowed at the sight of Hermione, but she didn't speak. Phineas Nigellus and a man she'd never seen before stood shoulder to shoulder in a portrait hung over the bed. On the table next to the bed was Professor Snape's wand, an array of bandages, medical instruments and phials of potions, the labels bearing Snape's spidery handwriting or Slughorn's florid scrawl.

Hermione walked closer, grimacing as the flickering shadows cast Snape's face in a death mask. She looked around, confused. "You said there was a mediwizard here. Where is he?"

"Druitt knows what needs to be done," Phineas replied, nodding at the other man in the painting. "Follow his instructions."

"The mediwizard is a _portrait_?" Hermione said, incredulous. "No. I'm going for help—"

"Do that and you may as well let the Headmaster die here," Phineas said. His voice and expression were icy. "Not all of Tom Riddle's supporters wore his mark, and there's still Dumbledore's death to consider. One side will want Professor Snape in Azkaban for using an Unforgivable, no matter the reason, and the other side will consider him a traitor to their cause. He'll be a walking target. His only chance at a normal life is if everyone believes he's dead."

"There's no time for this nonsense," Druitt interjected sharply. "Either go for help or follow my instructions, but whatever you choose, do it _now_."

Hermione wavered. She was exhausted, and the selfish temptation to hand this off to someone else and let them deal with the situation was overwhelming, but she had to admit that Phineas Nigellus was right. Professor Snape had been hated for too long by too many, and there would be people on both sides of the war who would rejoice at the chance to get their revenge.

She stared at Snape's still, white features. So many people had already died during this war, so many people who couldn't be saved. Voldemort had taken so much from all of them, and now, even in death, Voldemort was still taking from them.

 _No more._

Her mouth firmed, and she looked up at the portrait. "What do I do?"

"Close the wound in his neck first," Druitt said quickly. "It'll do no good to put blood back in if it only pumps straight out. There's little blood left in the edges of the wounds, so you'll have to force the flesh together. First close the artery. You'll have to pull back the torn skin to see clearly. Then close the outer wound. I'll talk you through it."

Bile rose in her throat. _Pull back the torn flesh?_ "Oh, god," she muttered. "Oh, god."

"Stop wibbling, and get on with it," Druitt snapped, then he glanced at Phineas. "Why did you bring me a weakling for an assistant?"

"I'm not a weakling!" Hermione snapped back.

Oddly enough, the insult had a calming effect. She went to Professor Snape's bedside and followed Druitt's instructions. Professor Snape's skin was cool beneath her fingers, and she swallowed hard, trying to view the torn flesh clinically. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she slowly moved the wand she'd been using over the ragged tears left by Nagini's fangs. She felt a surge of terror when the spell abruptly failed, leaving the wounds only half-closed.

"It's not working," she said, tensing. An edge of panic crept into her voice. "Why isn't it working?"

"Steady," Druitt said. His voice was suddenly the low and soothing tone of a professional calming a stressed assistant. "Move your wand more fluidly. This is delicate work and requires a fine touch."

"I'm trying, but this isn't my wand, and it doesn't work as well for me." Her hands were shaking now.

"Use his wand," Druitt said, pointing to the ebony wand lying on the table. "See if it's any better."

Hermione nodded sharply and picked up Professor Snape's wand. It felt odd in her hand, and she gave it a small flick. It was sluggish, but it responded more easily than Bellatrix' wand. Hermione took a deep breath before repeating the healing spell. Her shoulders relaxed as the edges of the wounds finally closed, and she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

"What now?" she asked.

"Get the potions into him." Druitt shot an appraising look at Hermione, then apparently satisfied with what he saw, he continued. "Feed that tubing down his nose and into his stomach. There's a charm that will seat the tube properly, so you don't have to worry that it will go into his lungs."

Once again, nausea clawed at her stomach, but Hermione followed instructions. To distract herself from the sight of the tubing slowly slithering down Snape's prominent nose, she nodded toward the potions on the table. "I didn't know Professor Snape and Professor Slughorn made potions for the infirmary."

"They don't," Phineas said. "Those are from the medical cupboard in the Slytherin common room."

"Medical cupboard?" Hermione echoed.

"Slytherins keep their business amongst themselves. They've never relied solely on the mercies of a school nurse." Phineas' tilted his head, genuine curiosity coloring his voice. "Don't Gryffindors keep medical supplies in their common room?"

"No," Hermione answered, surprised. It never occurred to her to have a medical cupboard in Gryffindor Tower, although it would have been useful.

"The tubing is in place," Druitt announced. "Funnel the antivenin through the tube, then add two measures of the Blood Replenishing Potion."

Hermione slowly poured the potions through the tubing, careful not to spill the smallest drop. When the last of the potions was administered, she asked, "What next?"

"Now we wait," Druitt answered, folding his arms over his chest.

"Will he live?" she asked.

"I don't know," Druitt said. "The rest is up to him. He'll either choose to live or he won't. Barring complications, we've done all that we can do."

Hermione transfigured an empty potion phial into a chair at his bedside and placed Professor Snape's wand back on the table. She sank into the chair, watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest

"You must swear to keep the Headmaster's secret," Phineas said. "We can't have you blurting it out to the first person who mentions his name."

Hermione looked up at the portrait and frowned. "I wouldn't do that. I can keep a secret."

"Even from your friends?" Phineas frowned back at her.

"Why shouldn't Harry and Ron know? Harry, in particular, will want—"

"No, it's too dangerous," Phineas said, his tone flat. "The only way to keep a secret is to never tell it."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and nodded toward Winky and the Bloody Baron. "I'd say it's too late for that."

"Winky is a house-elf, and the Baron is a ghost. Neither will speak of this to anyone. Druitt and I are Slytherins; we're loyal to the Headmaster. If your friends knew this secret, can you say with absolute certainty that neither of them would ever tell anyone under any circumstances?"

Hermione hesitated. Ron and Harry were so impetuous. They had grown up a great deal over the past few months, but they could still act without considering the consequences.

She grimaced. "No, I can't say that for certain. All right, I promise to keep this a secret, even from my friends."

"Don't promise me," Phineas said. "You must promise the headmaster."

Hermione shook her head. "He's not even conscious. He won't know—"

"Promise him," Phineas insisted.

Hermione leaned forward in her chair and addressed the man lying on the bed. "Professor Snape, I promise I won't tell anyone that you're alive."

Phineas nodded in satisfaction. "Now get out, girl. You must leave the dungeons before your friends begin looking for you."

She started to protest, but if Harry checked the Marauders Map to find her, she knew he could see Professor Snape's name on it. At that, a thought occurred to her. "How are you going to explain that his body's gone from the Shrieking Shack?"

"That's been arranged," Phineas answered. "After Winky brought the headmaster here, she returned with a bucket of ash from the kitchen hearth. It will appear that his body was incinerated."

"All right. I'll go to Gryffindor Tower and sleep for a bit. You'll send Winky to fetch me if there's any change?"

"If you're needed," Phineas pronounced that last word as if it was an impossibility, "you'll be notified."

Neither he, Druitt nor Winky would promise anything further, and the Bloody Baron ignored her entirely. Reluctantly, she left, glancing back once at the pale man lying on the bed.

* * *

It was midmorning by the time Hermione made it to Gryffindor Tower, her head aching and her eyes gritty from lack of sleep. Harry was snoring softly on the common room sofa. Neville sat in a wing chair, wand across his lap, clearly guarding Harry. He smiled at her and whispered that Ron and Ginny had gone back to the Burrow and would return to Hogwarts later that evening.

Hermione took the first unoccupied bed in the girl's dormitory and managed a few hours of fitful rest. She splashed cold water on her face and brushed her teeth before going down to the common room. Harry was still sound asleep. Seamus Finnegan now guarded Harry, and he nodded at her wearily as she crept past.

Once outside, she made straight for the dungeons. She found the room and opened the door but it was empty. Professor Snape was nowhere to be seen, and the boxes, bed, table and medical supplies were gone. Even Druitt's frame was empty, leaving only the background on display. She stepped back outside and counted the closed doors. This was the right room, but where was Professor Snape? Had they finally called in Madam Pomfrey? Or worse, had Professor Snape died?

Dread crawling through her veins like lead, she opened her handbag and called Phineas Nigellus, but he refused to answer. Turning on her heel, she started toward the Infirmary, but abruptly changed direction when she realised that there was no guarantee that Madam Pomfrey would tell her if Professor Snape was there.

The gargoyle guarding what was now Professor McGonagall's office still hung at an angle on its hinges, and she cleared her throat.

"I need to speak to a portrait in the Headmistress' office," she said. "It's urgent."

The gargoyle groaned. "Enter."

She knocked on the door, uncertain if Professor McGonagall was inside. When there was no answer, she slowly opened the door.

"Professor McGonagall?" she said as she entered.

Hermione started at the cheerful "Good morning" called out by Professor Dumbledore's portrait.

"Er, good morning," she replied.

"Professor McGonagall is surveying the grounds. Is there something I can help you with, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore's portrait asked.

"No actually," she gestured across the room, "I need to speak with Professor Nigellus."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Phineas Nigellus appeared to be napping and wouldn't wake when she called his name. Suspicious, Hermione stood waiting, arms folded over her chest until she saw him crack one eye open to check her whereabouts. At that, she pounced.

"Stop pretending to be asleep," she said sharply. "I don't have time for that nonsense. I went to check on..." Her voice trailed away as she glanced around at the other portraits, particularly Professor Dumbledore, avidly listening to their conversation. "I went to check on our _project_ , but it's gone. What happened?"

"Not gone," Phineas said. "Left. There is a difference."

"Left?" she repeated. "He's... We were successful then?"

"Clearly." Phineas sniffed.

Relief made her light-headed for a moment, and she bent over at the waist, placing her hands on her knees for a moment, breathing deeply.

"Are you all right, Miss Granger?" Professor Dumbledore asked, concerned.

Without looking up, she nodded. Then she straightened and glared at Phineas. "But it's too soon. It's only been a few hours. Surely the, erm, project needed to rest for a few days?"

"Considering the number of Ministry personnel on the grounds to sort out what's happened, it wasn't too soon at all," Phineas retorted. "Leaving was the most prudent thing to do." Phineas hesitated. "You were, however, left a... a status report."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "A what?"

"Winky," Phineas called. "Give Miss Granger the parchment that was left for her."

The house-elf popped into view and pulled a folded piece of parchment from a pocket on her tea towel. She handed it to Hermione, and as soon as Hermione had it in her grasp, Winky disappeared. Hermione barely registered the C now prominently embroidered on Winky's towel.

Hermione unfolded the paper, blinking at the spiky scrawl. She recognized it immediately; she'd seen it in red ink at the top of her schoolwork for six years.

 _Miss Granger,_

 _As distasteful as I consider the prospect, I once again find my life in the hands of a Gryffindor. My faith that you will honour your word and keep the secret of my survival even from your friends is limited at best, but I have no other choice._

 _Also, a pedestrian mind might consider that I owe you a life debt. As others accomplished the majority of the work done in reviving me, and you were merely an instrument of their endeavours, I think not. However, in recognition of your efforts on my behalf, I award you ten points for inter-house co-operation. Since I am no longer a teacher at Hogwarts, and you are no longer a student, you may consider that to be an empty gesture. Such is life. Do try to enjoy the rest of yours as I intend to enjoy the rest of mine._

 _Severus Snape_

 _P.S. Drop the parchment at once._

"Drop the parchment?" Hermione frowned, then gave a surprised cry as the parchment incinerated in a flash of smoke and fire in her hand.

Brushing curls of ash from her singed fingertips, she looked up at Phineas. "So that's it, then?"

"Yes. Now go away." Phineas made a flicking motion with his fingers, trying to shoo her away. "And put my other portrait back where it belongs. I'm tired of being carried about like a handkerchief."

Hermione huffed out a frustrated breath. "You're a right bastard, you know that?"

"And you're a lying witch who's promised to deceive her friends, and yet together we accomplished the near impossible," Phineas said with a sneer. "Your moral high ground is built on quicksand."

Hermione fought the temptation to stick her tongue out at him.

"Miss Granger," Albus Dumbledore's portrait said, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What was this project you've been discussing? What exactly has been accomplished?"

"I can't say, sir," Hermione shot a sour look at Phineas. "I promised I wouldn't."

"We merely did what you were unwilling to do, Albus." Phineas settled back into his chair, the hint of a smile on his lips. "The girl assisted me in renovating a bit of rubbish that you'd discarded. You were always careless with things of value, but this had quite a bit of life left in it. Quite a bit of life, indeed."

The two portraits began to bicker, and Hermione simply turned and walked out. As she went past the gargoyle, she stopped at the first window in the corridor, looking out over the grounds. Blue-robed Aurors criss-crossed the grass, and she could see Professor McGonagall pointing out damaged sections of the castle walls to Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Hermione leaned close to the glass and looked toward the Forbidden Forest, straining to see any hint of a black-robed figure moving away from the castle, but there wasn't even the tiniest flutter of black cloth there. With a sigh, she turned away from the window and started toward Gryffindor Tower. She'd wait for Harry to wake and for Ron to return, and hope that someday life would return to normal.

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ community snape_after_dh


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